One Of Those Days

By Snare-chan

Pairings: None
Ratings: T
Category(ies): General
Warning(s): If the idea of someone throwing up grosses you out, I'd avoid?
Status: One-shot, complete
Summary: Tidus has a bad run in with a new enemy.

Notes: It's my birthday and, as a sort-of-gift to myself, I got a PSP and Dissidia; a game I've been hammering for. I'm glad I did, because I am completely hooked – I can't say when the last time it was I wanted to write for something before I'd finished it, so this is saying something. This is my first steps into this fandom, and I'm here to stay!

Disclaimer: I dun own Dissidia; wish I did like everyone else. They should put Dissidia in stock, then I'd buy it all!

When Firion and Cecil stumbled across Tidus, he wasn't looking well. The three of them had separated due to a short disturbance created by Chaos' legions, no doubt engineered to test the party's strength. It wasn't a coincidence that his forces arrived shortly after Cloud had left, and it was the best explanation for the influx of attackers.

Firion was immediately concerned that their companion may have come into contact with a too-powerful enemy, noticing the green pallor of his skin and how the normally exuberant teen was standing woozily on his feet.

"Tidus! Are you all right?" he asked, inspecting him for possible injuries.

His body had no visible lacerations or bruises, which was not an entire relief. He was no fool; their enemies were crafty and could just as easily harm someone without physically leaving a scratch or even needing to touch. At his side, Cecil stood at full attention, body language projecting that he was thinking the same thing.

Their friend blinked at them blearily, the eyelids not quite moving in tandem, as Firion's question registered.

"I think," Tidus started, "I'm going to be sick."

True to his word, he leaned over the nearest railing connected to the platform they were on and hurled. Both warriors winced at the sound. As the other's sickness continued to run its course, they stood there awkwardly for a moment, and then Firion was beside Tidus and laying a calming hand on his back.

"What ails him?" Cecil asked, since their third member was incapable of answering himself. His mouth remained preoccupied with more pressing functions.

"I am unsure… Did you catch something? A flu, perhaps?"

Tidus waved a limp hand around, portraying the negative.

Firion tried again, instead asking, "Then you were cursed, I assume."

That earned him a thumbs-up from Tidus, who needed another moment longer to settle himself. When he was finished, his body slumped against the edge, head sort of hanging.

"Nngh. An imitation I've never seen before hit me with gas-y stuff. It smelled like garbage and just thinking about makes me want to-"

His body finished the statement for him, repeating his earlier display.

"Poison," Cecil said, coming to the troubled conclusion. "What treachery!"

"Can you heal him?" Firion asked, knowing of the other's double-sided background, though already he predicted the answer to his inquiry. If healing magic were a part of his light repertoire, then potions would not be such in high demand.

Cecil confirmed this as he shook his head and stated, "Alas, I cannot. I wish it were not so."

"Oh, joy," Tidus said, moaning. They knew his sarcasm wasn't directed at Cecil personally, but at his current predicament. "So, do I ride this out until it goes away, or what? 'Cause I've lost my breakfast and lunch. It did not taste as good coming up, let me tell you!"

"We need to move him somewhere secure," Firion ordered, ignoring Tidus for the moment. Not out of callousness, but in urgency, and Cecil understood the difference enough to help support their friend without complaint at the possibility of his armor getting sullied.

Firion had felt the fever setting in, Tidus' skin heating up at an alarming rate and leeching through the material of his clothes. He knew with calculated accuracy that it wouldn't be long until the effects got worse – perhaps even fatal.

"I fear he is hallucinating," Cecil said as he went about setting their younger companion down. He propped him against a wall in the shade, their traveling companion mumbling as he was moved, but otherwise not responding. He'd been in such a state for a while, Cecil having to sustain more and more of his weight until he was forced to carry him outright.

"He insists on referring to you as 'Auron,' whoever that may be."

"This poison is progressing at an alarming rate," Firion agreed distantly, and inspected the area. It was empty of enemies as far as he could see, and the space was evenly laid out – it was not too small to risk tight fighting quarters, nor was it too open to leave them vulnerable.

"Indeed. Tidus requires an antidote, and swiftly."

"I will go and look," he volunteered. "In the meantime, someone must remain and stand guard. We can't leave him alone in this state."

Cecil came off unsure, but despite his hesitation in saying so, he did speak up.

"Are you certain? I can attempt to procure a treatment in your stead."

"Yes. You two wait here," Firion reassured, offering a weak smile to try and relieve his friend. Cecil offered a small grin of his own and nodded, swearing to protect Tidus at all costs, seeing as their third party member wasn't leaving anytime soon.

Tidus wasn't exactly sure what was happening, but he was aware enough to understand when he was dreaming and when he wasn't. Right now, he was without a doubt unconscious and having the most tripped-out nightmare of his life.

"Aw man, can't you leave me alone for one second? I have to put up with you every waking moment of my day; I shouldn't have to tolerate you in my own head, too."

He was talking to dreamscape-Jecht, naturally, since there was no one more obnoxious, relentless, and constant than his father. Granted, the man was blurry all over, so it was difficult to identify him, but intelligent reasoning dictated that he was the only option.

"Suck it up, kid. What the blazes did you get into now?" his not-real-dad asked, his already grating and rough voice somehow managing to aggravate Tidus' aching head more than usual, despite it being otherwise impossible to do so during sleep. Here, nothing was supposed to hurt you. Sadly, it didn't surprise him – his old man was talented at finding ways to ruin everything.

"Nothing! I'm resting; what's it to you?!"

"Looks more like dying to me. At the rate you bozos go, you won't be accomplishing jack shit."

"Stupid," Tidus said, scoffing. "You can't die in dreams."

"Hopeless little kid. How'd you ever survive without me around to keep you in line?"

Tidus tried to glare up at him, but his vision was getting worse and instead of a moving blob of mixed colors, fake-Jecht was a single shape against a bright background with hardly a distinction between shades. He wanted to snap a retort, because as if he was going to let a mock version of his father insult him when he couldn't bear the real one doing it to him, but it wasn't up to Tidus. He was going deeper – where nobody, his own thoughts included, could follow.

"Heh, lucky you, nobody's magic is permanent. If you're really my son, you'll pull through fine until this passes. You still need to tell me something, right?"

A condescending pat on the shoulder that felt so real it could have been was the last thing he acknowledged. If he could have continued to dream, he'd have spat in Jecht's eye for that gesture.

There was only Tidus present to greet him when Firion returned, Cecil's vanishing worrying him as much as the fact that no one was around to see to Tidus' welfare. A million scenarios ran through his head in rapid succession as he readied one of his weapons and gave the area a small sweep. Had Cecil been abducted? Was he-

A form in white darted out and tried to strike him.

"Ah, Firion!" Cecil said in alarm, immediately retracting his lance when he realized he had attacked his party member. "Forgive me, I-"

Firion calmly waved away his apology and said, "There's no reason to excuse the duty you promised to uphold. I'm all right. How is he?"

They both looked to Tidus, who remained unmoving, and then back to one another.

"A couple of foes treaded too close for comfort and I went to dispose of them before they became a threat. His condition was steady when I left, but I know not if it continued to degrade in the short time I was gone. Were you successful in your endeavor?"

"I… No, I found nothing that would be useful to us."

A sort of despaired expression crossed Cecil's face as he asked, "Then, what course should we take? Surely our time grows short."

While they hurried in devising a second plan of action, they were distracted from noticing Tidus yawn and stretch outside the corner of their vision. He flinched as his muscles ached from shifting too soon, but otherwise he seemed to be faring better. So much better, actually, that he managed to rise to his feet using the surface behind him as support.

Shaking his head to clear it, he spotted his friends discussing something – something important, if the heatedness of their words was any indication. Ignoring the protest of his body, he took the necessary steps to stand among them and placed both arms around their shoulders, forming a sort of huddle.

"What has you two so uptight, huh? Can I beat it up?"

Cecil and Firion stared, speechless.

"Ah…what? Do I have something on my face?"

"You're awake?" Firion asked, disbelieving.

He frowned, confused by the question, and said as much.

"Sure! Am I not supposed to be?"

"Do you not remember your condition?" Cecil asked this time.

Tidus scratched his chin as he thought, keeping one arm looped around Cecil's shoulders, but was lost as to what the other was referring to. Time escaped him; the last thing he remembered was a fight. But battling around here was so common he didn't think it was worth noting.

"Huh?" Tidus finally settled on.

"You were poisoned. We were… It's good that you made it through the ordeal," Firion said.

"Poisoned? Really?" he asked, no stranger to such an ailment. Blitzball, a game he played back home, was notorious for having a couple of players who specialized in techniques that abused the loophole for such things to be used.

"Ooooh. That would explain the muscle stiffness."

Cecil shook his head, amused, and Firion was torn on whether to be as well. He settled on saying instead, "We'll rest for a bit longer, in that case."

"Nah, we don't have to. Working out will stretch them back into shape, I swear! Besides, my urge to defeat my dad is stronger than ever. No idea why," he said, and shrugged.

There was no arguing with the youth when it came to certain subjects, and facing his father was one of them. This early on both Cecil and Firion had come to this conclusion, and while they were wary, it wasn't up to them to determine what Tidus could or couldn't do.

"Very well, but let's take it easy. No need to rush into things right away."

"Says you!" Tidus said, laughing, and then he was off, nowhere near as acrobatic or fast as he usually was, but it would be hard for those who hadn't seen him ill earlier to guess that he'd experienced the side effects of poison.

"I predict I will never fully comprehend him," Cecil admitted, watching the other run off for a moment before following at a more leisurely pace.

Firion, doing the same, confessed, "Honestly? I'm not sure I shall, either. But that's all right, I think."

-Fin-